Morag: What – so you’ll write about a cat sucking you off but you won't write about your life with – with whatever I am?

Scat: My special lady?

Morag: Whatever I am.

Scat: First of all, that cat didn’t ‘suck me off’, as you so charmingly put it.Secondly, I guess some bits of my life I want to keep to myself if that’s alright.

Morag: But I want you to blog about me.

Scat: Why?

Morag: Because I’m part of your life, you fucker.

Scat: So it’s all about your ego really?

Morag: Pffft. You’re so difficult sometimes. Why are you so difficult?

Scat: I’m just trying to understand.

Morag: I think your public want to hear about me.

Scat: I think you’re insane.

Morag: Seriously though, why don’t you want to? I don’t understand.

Scat: I don’t know. Maybe I like you too much.

Morag: Awww. That’s crap.

Scat: Is it?

Morag: Isn’t it?

Scat: Yeah, OK. It’s crap.

Morag: You’re cold.

Scat: I am NOT cold. I am probably the warmest person you will ever meet. I’ll blog about you when you do something interesting. How’s that?

Morag: Cold.

Scat: Mmmmwah.

Two weeks ago…

Morag: Anyway, I want to ask you something.

Scat: Ask away.

Morag: I just want to know how this is working out for you.In your opinion.

Scat: What are we talking about?

Morag: Me. You. Us. Our “relationship”. Are you happy with it?

Scat: How’s it working out for me? I’m happy, yeah. Thanks for asking. What about you?

[Time passes.]

Your silence is speaking volumes. Are you not happy?

Morag: Yeah.

Scat: Yeah you’re happy or yeah you’re not happy?

Morag: Happy.

Scat: Hmm. That ‘happy’ is sitting there on my screen like an empty pill bottle on a hotel bed.

[Time passes.]

Hello?

Morag: I’m thinking I might move back to London.

Scat: Really? But you love Brighton. How come?

Morag: I know but it’s like, what am I doing here?I need to start thinking about my career. A career. Something. I need to start thinking about the rest of my life.

Scat: Shit, man. Sounds serious.

Morag: Well it should be serious shouldn’t it?

Scat: I don’t know. Should it?

Morag: Of course it fucking should! Jesus.

Scat: OK, OK. So move to London.

Morag: Well what about you?

Scat: I already live in London.

Morag: That’s not what I mean.I mean, what are you going to do with your life? You’re not getting any younger, you know.

Scat: You’re rather inquisitive for a fuck buddy.

Morag: Cock. I care about you, for fuck sake!I care about you and I hate to see you wasting your life!

Scat: I didn’t know I was wasting my life! I thought I was having more fun than I’ve ever had before. I thought I was having The Time Of My Life in fact. At least I was before this conversation started.

[Time passes.]

Hello?

[Time passes.]

Are you ignoring me now?

Morag: I thought you were supposed to be looking for love?

Scat: Sigh. I am looking for love.

Morag: Oh alright then. So you’re looking for love, but you’re perfectly happy with us carrying on the way we are. It doesn’t make sense.

Scat: But that’s like saying, OK, I really want to go to Mauritius but I can’t afford it this year, therefore I’m going to stay at home, even though I’m being offered this fantastic trip to Torremolinos. Of course I’m not – I’m going to go to Torremolinos and have myself a helluva time.

Morag: So I’m just a second-rate Spanish holiday to you, am I?

Scat: I could’ve picked Blackpool. You should think yourself lucky.And you’re deliberately missing the point. I have a great time with you. That’s what I was saying.Look, I don’t know what’s going on here. If you want to end it, you should just say so. I don’t know why I’m suddenly in a big flap here trying to defend myself. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.

Morag: You're the lucky one you didn't pick Blackpool.I think you’re the one missing the point too. I don’t want to end it. That’s not what I’m saying.

Scat: What are you saying? Help me out here.

Morag: I’m saying that I’ve started to feel recently that our “relationship” as it stands is not really enough for me.

Scat: Well, I offered you “more” months ago.

Morag: But I didn’t want it then.

Scat: Oh well.

Morag: Oh well what?

Scat: Timing.

Morag: That’s all you’ve got to say, is it? Timing.

Scat: Well what do you want me to say?

Morag: If I have to spell it out, I’m not so sure I even want you to say it anymore. So?

Scat: Well, is that all you’ve got to say? I’ve got my pride you know.

Morag: What’s that got to do with anything?

Scat: Well, I’m just saying, when we first met, I wanted to be with you, to go out with you, whatever, and you turned me down. Now you’re saying you want more – I presume you mean with me but you’re not really being explicit enough for me to be sure – and I don’t know how you expect me to feel. I don’t know how I do feel.You can’t just pick me up and put me down like a cat playing with a crisp bag. It’s not fair.

Seriously? What am I wearing? That's what the pervs who used to call us on the suicide line I worked on would ask. We were cheaper than the sex lines. But, for the record, and working up, blue socks, jeans, green embroidered top over brown vest, silver hair clip. I think. I can't see that bit of my head.

I really want to know what the censored bits were. Does that make me a blog comment perv?

I've spent this evening with two of my exes (with whom I currently, temporarily, and weirdly, share a house) discussing whether true love has to involve sparks and lightening bolts at the beginning. It sounds like you're after such sparkles. I'm not sure they're always necessary. Hmm.

I want to offer you hugs... maybe this is weird, as I am an internet stranger who is rubbish at commenting... but *hugs*.

It's so hateful sometimes that things have to be awkward and complicated and full of compromises and we can't all just bloody well go to Mauritius. Oh god, this metaphor is in danger of slipping into "it's all about the journey"... ugh. I dunno, I grew up somehow believing there was some kind of sense in the universe, like there is in stories. So I resent the fact that you can really truly adore people yet not want to be with them forever, or at all, or that you can love people who aren't good for you, or who you aren't good for... but somehow all that variety of feeling is a little bit glorious too. I like to think that with the (or a) right person things feel wonderful and right and don't hurt all the fucking time, even if they're still complicated, but who knows...?

Ramble, ramble... but I do think, though, that someone who really cares for you doesn't read the worst into your words and actions, and pounce gleefully upon your stumbles to punish you for them. Maybe that's not what's happening here, but... kindness is important.

Anyway, I am off to put on my horrible and mismatched old pyjamas... aren't you glad you asked?

wearing? paint spots on my upper body. painted a wall tonight wearing just shorts because i liked my bra, and didn't want to get it speckled...

maybe if it were a color other than brown. so now i have freckles where once there were none.

sort of understand the Morag thing a bit... my ex husband would often refuse sex when we were first together. that just hurts. and it's hard to get past it once someone rejects you...

my dating now? i've grown a teeny bit tired of being abandoned by men that i was only marginally interested in from the start. that just annoys... not the "abandoned" part, but the fact that i'm annoyed by it...

OK, nobody else will say it so I guess I'd better tell you that women always want to decide the time line on relationships, however much they deny it ;) Your only choice is to either go along with it or get out, which you did. Probably for the best I'd say.

Oh, and comparing her to Torremolinos was probably not such a great move ;)

I like Morag. So, she changed her mind. We don't all get fully enlightened at the same time. I think the emails/live chat read well, so I disagree with OP anonymous. Anyway, I guess you will decide what is right for you.

I'm rubbish at relationships, but to me it sounds like Morag's been a typical woman about this one and hasn't been able to have sex without emotion creeping in, and she's discovered that she has more feelings than you than she though. So, maybe it's a bit arse over tit, but surely a good thing, no? Don't let pride get in the way if that's all that's stopping you.

'...I enjoy reading Stan Cattermole’s writing as much as I enjoy Mark Twain and Charles Dickens and Kurt Vonnegut. In fact, I have rarely read anything more painfully humorous and delightfully moving.'

In a nutshell..

I am a good man - loving and funny and true - wrapped in the body of a brutal, brutal mess. I also have a face like a bag of elbows. This is my curse. If you see me limping down a London street, do not judge me - because you do not know me. Just give me a smile, or if that proves too difficult, please try to look away without wincing. It really is the least you can do.

‘You are such a wanker, you really are! People like you make me wanna vomit. My got [sic] the world would be such a dull place if you had your way, wouldnt [sic] it?’- Anonymous Sebastian Horsley fan

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